


Shadowfall

by Razziecat (EchoThruTheWoods), WandererRiha



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: sprawling AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-08-29 01:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoThruTheWoods/pseuds/Razziecat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: What if Deepground was victorious in its assault on the surface?





	1. One

War was an ugly thing. It was even uglier when you lost. 

Kneeling on a cold concrete floor with his hands bound behind his back and a very sharp blade at his throat, Veld had time to reflect on all the mistakes the WRO had made. Assuming that they had the manpower to defeat Deepground had been the least of them.

Going head-to-head with the Tsviets had been the biggest. But then, even the best intelligence they had on the Tsviet-SOLDIER program had missed something vitally important: The existence of a mage who controlled the very darkness itself.

You couldn’t shoot at something you couldn’t see.

He shifted a little, easing his cramped legs. He and a handful of troops, several of them bleeding badly, had been held here for over an hour, waiting for the arrival of the creature who’d led the Deepground forces to victory. 

The blade followed his movement.

“Try it,” his keeper hissed. Tall and slim, with blazing red hair, she stood as still as death beside him. “Go ahead - try me.”

He bit back the angry retort on his tongue. If she wanted him dead, he’d be dead already. Obviously he had some value, was being kept alive for some reason, at the behest of the dark mage, who still hadn’t bothered to show up, the bastard. 

That didn’t mean she couldn’t damage him somewhat. He breathed in, out again, slow and steady, reaching for calm. He couldn’t negotiate if he lost his head, figuratively or literally. He needed to stay alive, learn as much as possible, find out what he had to work with to save Edge and the WRO.

He also needed the answer to two vital questions: What had happened to Reeve? And where the hell was Valentine?

The feeble overhead lights flickered fitfully. One of them went out. Veld glanced at the ceiling as best he could without moving his head. The lights were still on, yet the room had grown darker. Smoke? Some sort of subterranean fog? Panic rose up inside him like nausea, and he fought it back down. It wasn’t the darkness that unnerved him, but the unnatural way it had filled the room. 

The blackness condensed and compressed into a single point; a black hole shouldering its way through the door. Veld could not see into the pitch-dark corridor and the darkness spilling into the holding room, but the cadence of a familiar tread caught his ear. Something like hope extinguished the fear he’d been forcibly ignoring. Valentine?

The darkness receded slightly, leaving a tall, narrow figure standing over him. Veld dared to hope, dared to breathe, and felt the inhale cut short. That sure as hell was not Valentine. He wasn’t even sure it was human. It was human shaped, male, but that was where the similarities ended. Ragged black hair hung past its shoulders, all but obscuring a pair of glowing, golden eyes that stared out of a face as pale and gray as a cadaver’s. The lower half of its face was hidden by a respiration mask of some sort; the rasp of each breath indicative of its purpose. The long body was covered by a skin tight suit of twilight gray; tubing glowing indigo running up and down it. The sleeves had been torn off just below the elbows, exposing long-fingered hands with blackened nails, and forearms chased with a spider web of black lines like the laciest of tattoos. A skeletal steel structure hung from its shoulders; the bones of a skinless pair of wings. A razor-edged blade tipped each pinion, and a pair of clawed talons curled at the joint. Darkness trailed off him like vapor from dry ice. Veld fought the urge to shuffle back, all too aware of the blade against his neck.

The hell _was_ this thing?

“These are the ones that survived?” it asked the red-headed woman, voice low, and rumbling, and weirdly familiar.

“More or less,” she said, shrugging. “The last of the holdouts. My lieutenant’s got more outside. After she made an example of a platoon, the rest surrendered.” 

She indicated the huddled troops with a tilt of her head. “That bunch is injured. Not worth saving. This one,” and she tapped Veld with the flat of her blade, “seems to be important. They were following his orders.” 

“He’s old,” the shadow thing mused, and Veld couldn’t tell if the tone carried disdain or not. It turned to Veld. “Identify yourself.”

“My name is Veld. I work for the WRO.” How much could he safely tell them? He needed to stay alive, dammit. “I’ve been trying to negotiate with you people for the better part of a month. Can’t say I’ve been too successful. So now that I’ve got you here, let me ask you: What the hell do you want?”

“My brother,” the shadow creature said simply. “Release him and no one else has to get hurt.”

Oh gods, there was another one like this? At the very least, he needed to stall for time, and pray that Valentine turned up.

“What does he look like? I can’t say I’ve seen him, or know anything about him.” Veld glanced at the woman holding the blade. “Things have been a little chaotic around here.”

The thing gestured fractionally with its head and the woman stepped back. Stiffly, Veld got to his feet. He wasn’t even chin-high to the walking darkness. Veld tilted his head up, intending to look it in the eye, but the creature’s glowing, cat-eyed stare made something deep inside him shiver.

“Shorter than me, but broader,” it began. “Messy white hair, blue eyes. Tends to punch holes in things.”

That made the woman snicker.

“You’ve got him in your custody and there’s no way you wouldn’t know about him. Tell me where he is and this can all be over.”

For a given definition of over, Veld assumed. Deepground had won, there was no denying that. Edge was in tatters, the WRO in total disarray, at least until Reeve turned up, if he ever did. For all intents and purposes, Deepground was now in charge.

“Even if I knew where he was,” said Veld, feeling his way forward as though he walked through live landmines, “I still represent Edge and the WRO. I can’t just give up anything of value, at least not without getting something in return.”

“How about your life?” the woman growled. Her blade nicked his throat. He glanced at her, ignoring the hot trickle of blood down his neck.

“I’m just one person. Not worth all that much in the big picture.” Looking at the shadow-thing again, Veld went on, “What’s it worth to you?”

“You don’t get it,” the creature began. “You get one chance to cough him up. If he is not released, we will come and collect him. You really do not want that.” The golden eyes, for all their vivid glow, held no warmth at all. “Either he is returned, or we will go through your cities inch by inch until we find him.”

Think fast, old man. “Look,” said Veld, “I’ve been out here with the troops. I can’t be everywhere at once. You can threaten me all you like, but I don’t know where he is. I wasn’t there when he was taken. I don’t even know who took him.

“Give me some time, and maybe I can find out.”

The living shadow looked at him, obviously unimpressed. “What’s your rank, old man?”

“I’m not technically military. I don’t have that kind of rank. Used to run a small department of operatives, back in the day. They called me ‘chief’.”

The golden eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He might be useful. Lock him in the brig, and put the others out of their misery.”

Veld scowled, but the creature was correct. These soldiers were barely hanging on as it was; a couple of them looked to have already succumbed to their injuries. He didn’t have the wherewithal to help them, much as he would have liked to.

“Permission to ask one question?” he said, addressing the shadow-man while the woman went to carry out his orders.

“Speak.”

“Have you people got Reeve Tuesti? Dark hair, beard, about my height? If you do, there’s a chance we might work a deal. Maybe.”

“See that he gets his own cell,” the shadow-man clarified. “After that, muster your troops. We move as soon as the sun goes down.”

Veld had years of being in charge behind him. Being ignored, even by this hellspawn, rankled. 

“Boy, I asked you a question. I’d appreciate the courtesy of an answer.”

The fiend did not lift a finger, yet shadow seized Veld by the throat, lifting him off his feet. A hand of pure darkness crushed his windpipe, invisible fingers digging into the muscle.

“I answer to no one,” the creature growled, eyes blazing. “Least of all you. You are still alive because you might be useful to me. Do not give me a reason to change my mind.”

The shadows roughly tossed him to the floor. There was no dignified way to gasp for air, so Veld simply gulped lungfuls of oxygen where he lay. He watched, still wheezing, as the creature folded its arms over its chest and stepped back into the shadows and disappeared. Actually disappeared.

Shit. The day was getting worse.

_Valentine, where the hell are you?_


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prisoners taken on both sides.

Vincent stared down at the large, fair man lying on the narrow bed. They’d had to bind him with chains strong enough to hold a tugboat; he’d broken every other chain or cable they could find.

Right now he seemed feverish, his eyes glazed, skin sheened with sweat. And yet he still managed to thrash and yell and swear a blue streak. When his words weren’t gibberish, anyway. It was arguable if he understood the situation.

“Lemme go,” he slurred for the hundredth time. “Nero… I gotta find Nero… Lemme go… I’ll kill you...bastards…” The efforts were half-hearted at best, but still enough to have splintered the bed rails and snapped the first dozen varieties of restraints they’d tried on him. For several minutes he lay still, evidently exhausted by his efforts. Blearily, he opened his eyes and squinted at Vincent.

“...you’re not Nero.”

“Nero?” Vincent had been in the thick of the battle until this fellow had turned up. It had taken more effort than he cared to admit to subdue him. He hadn’t had time, or the attention to spare, for anything or anyone else. Clearly this man was some sort of SOLDIER. He’d gone through the WRO troops like a behemoth on steroids. He was also out of his head, and fixing that wasn’t in Vincent’s skill set. 

“Who’s Nero? And what’s your name?” he asked, keeping out of reach of the man’s arms. Though bound, he still had enough power in those thick fingers to snap bone if Vincent came too close.

“Where is he? What’d you do…” The man groaned, squeezed his eyes shut in pain. “Tsviet: Immaculate, Weiss. General, Alpha Unit. 11742368.”

Vincent sighed. “And who’s Nero? Is he your CO? In charge of Deepground? Who is he?”

“S’my brother… You kinda remind me of him.” Immaculate, Weiss fell back on the pillow, panting.

Apparently these were the ravings of an injured man. It made sense that family might be the foremost thing on his mind. Vincent still had no idea who this missing brother was. It didn’t matter. This man was a formidable warrior and obviously worth something to Deepground. He’d have to try to contact Reeve or Veld, and see if they could use this.

The door opened a crack, and a WRO trooper, much the worse for wear, stuck his head into the room. 

“Agent Valentine, we’ve got a prisoner asking to see this, um… man,” he said, glancing at Weiss. “She says she’s his mother.”

Intrigued, Vincent waved a hand. “Bring her in, but keep your weapon on her. I don’t need any rescue attempts. If she’s anything like him, she could be major trouble.”

‘Major trouble’, however, were not the first words that sprang to mind upon laying eyes on Immaculate’s mother. She was tiny, perhaps just over five foot, and slightly built. Her uniform was dark gray, like those of the other Deepground troops, but included a cloak. Was she an officer? There was a decidedly Wutaian cast to her features. Her sleek black hair held hints of gray, and a patch covered her right eye.

“Sir,” she said saluting and then moving right past Vincent to her son’s side. Immaculate said nothing as she approached him and laid one hand on his arm. Vincent had expected him to smile, to call her ‘mom’, and perhaps try to hug her. Instead, he visibly relaxed at her touch, closing his eyes and sinking into the mattress as if asleep.

“What has happened to him?” Immaculate’s mother asked.

“Battle injury,” said Vincent. “His head came into contact with an immovable object.” No need to tell her that the object in question had been Chaos, aka Vincent Valentine. “There’s not a mark on him, but it must have rattled his brain. He’s been like this ever since.”

“No,” she said quietly. “He was like this before. He would never complain, but I could tell that he was in pain. Weiss? Can you hear me, my son?”

Vincent blinked at the formal, almost arcane speech pattern, but any comment he might have made was cut off as Weiss groaned and turned to face the woman. He blinked at her blearily.

“Who’re you?”

“A friend,” she replied after only the briefest suggestion of a pause. “Do you not remember me?”

“No,” he mumbled. “Should I?”

“It is of no matter,” she assured him, stroking wild white hair out of his eyes. He flinched at her touch, but otherwise did not move. “Please know that I am here to see to your recovery. So long as I am by your side, you are safe.”

Weiss blinked and squinted, trying to focus and failing.

“Nero…”

“Hush,” she soothed. “You will stand beside him soon. For now, rest.”

“Okay,” he agreed, and closed his eyes.

“Ma’am,” said Vincent. Something about this woman inspired him to treat her with more courtesy than one would normally accord a prisoner of war. “He’ll be given what care we can provide, but we have no medical personnel on-site. Certainly no one with experience in the SOLDIER program. He is a SOLDIER, isn’t he?”

“He is a Tsviet, which is very like a SOLDIER, yes,” she agreed. “I will go with him, wherever you take him. Tell me, what of the rest of my children?”

Vincent blinked. “I...couldn’t say. I’m not exactly privy to the family relationships of Deepground personnel. I fought this man, and when he fell I brought him here along with the rest of my unit, and a number of other prisoners. I have no idea who your children are, or where.”

“They are not among your prisoners, then,” she said. “You would have surely known if they were. My second son and foster daughter are yet missing. I ask that they be treated kindly should you come upon them.”

“I can’t make any promises. It’s not entirely up to me. But we don’t harm prisoners for no reason, I can assure you of that much.”

What his co-commander would have to say about all this, he didn’t know. They needed to talk, immediately.

“What is your name, please, ma’am? I’ll have the guards bring in a pallet for you so you can stay with your son.”

“You may call me Argento,” she replied. “I too am a Tsviet; color silver. Weiss and Nero are my sons by blood, and Rosso is my daughter by love. Alas, their father is dead, so I must watch over them alone.”

The idea of this petite woman watching over the hulk of a man on the bed would have made Vincent laugh, if he hadn’t learned how deadly Tsviets were. They’d taken these two prisoner more by luck than force; after fighting for days, even SOLDIERs or Tsviets grew tired enough to make mistakes.

“I’ll leave you here with him, then. Please don’t attempt to escape or to harm the guards. They have orders to shoot to kill, and weapons that can do some damage even to SOLDIERs.”

She seemed amused at that. “You will have more difficulty in keeping me from my son’s side. Give me no reason to doubt you, and I shall comply in so far as it benefits my children.”

“Sounds like we’re on the same page, then. Give me no reason to separate the two of you, and we’ll all be happier.” 

Suppressing an urge to bow, Vincent signaled the guard to unlock the door and slipped out. 

Time to confer with Elfe, and find out what was going on with Reeve and the rest of the WRO.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which reconnaissance is done.

“Veld’s not back yet,” were the first words out of Elfe’s mouth. Despite the old man being her father, she never referred to him as such. Still, she wasn’t completely cold toward him. Theirs was a complicated relationship. However, each word was taut with worry.

“His entire unit has disappeared,” she went on. “They were near one of the blackout sectors and I swear to gods it’s as if the darkness just swallowed them whole. I can’t get a read on them via radio, equipment, materia, anything.”

“They could be laying low,” said Vincent, but his gut told him otherwise. Veld was too cunning to be easily taken, too reliable to cut off communications without a damn good reason. 

Things had been going to hell when Vincent had left the field of battle. This wasn’t a good sign.

“I’d know if he were dead,” he told Elfe. “We were partners for too long for that instinct to fail. I’ll have to go back, see if I can find him. Any information on what’s happened to Reeve?”

She shook her head. “None. Vince, we can’t afford to send more people in there, but we can’t afford not to. No one’s coming back, and we keep losing districts. We can’t even tell how the hell they’re doing it.”

Elfe didn’t sound alarmed so much as angry; as if this were a personal insult to her skills as a tactician.

“We need to figure out how they’re claiming so much territory. It can’t be by simply shutting off the lights.”

Except that was exactly what it looked like: Old Midgar had fallen sector by sector, and now pieces of Edge were being steadily consumed as well by an enemy that no one saw until it was too late.

“I’m not asking you to send anyone,” said Vincent. “I’ll go in alone. Chaos can get me into the area where we lost contact with Veld. If I can find him, I’ll bring him back with me. Reeve, too, I hope. You need to hold this area, if you can. 

“We have a couple of prisoners that might be valuable. With any luck, if a rescue mission fails, you can use them to negotiate with Deepground.” It was a slim hope, but better than nothing.

“About that,” Efle said, a strangely uncertain edge to her voice. “We’ve received some transmissions that we _think_ are coming from the old Shinra building. They’re poor quality, but the demands are the same: some guy insisting that we hand over his brother. We do that, and he might think about a stalemate. The techs are still working on it, so I’m hoping we’ll have an actual target for you in a few hours.”

“Brother, eh?” Things started to make sense. Weiss had said something about a brother, and Argento talked about two sons. Surely it wasn’t a coincidence.

“I don’t trust it, though. They were winning, maybe already _have_ won. They have no reason to compromise. If we’ve got the man they want, we can’t hand him over for anything less than a full retreat by Deepground’s forces. In the meantime, maybe I should check out the Shinra building. If I can isolate their leader, this whole thing could be over shortly, and in our favor for once.”

“You’re the closest thing to bulletproof we have,” she agreed. “Make it a search and secure. No heroics. Just figure out what the hell we’re up against and maybe how to stop it.”

“And where they’ve got the prisoners locked up,” Vincent added.

“That too. Come back in one piece.”

Vincent gave her a bitter smile. “I will.”

—-

The old Shinra tower was the only thing still visible in Old Midgar; everything else was lost under a blanket of shadow that stretched from one end of the city to the other. This wasn’t the normal dusky darkness of nighttime in a city. It was deep, impenetrable, as though someone had filled the streets with the blackest ink until it rose up and drowned every structure, even the remaining ruins left over from Meteorfall.

The broken tower poked up above the solid black city, perhaps half as tall as it had been in the days of Shinra’s power. No lights shone from within, but it still seemed the logical place to start. If Deepground could use darkness as a weapon, Vincent reasoned, they had to be immune to it, or at least comfortable with it. 

It also was a perfect place to set a trap. Using Chaos’ form, Vincent approached with caution, landing on a ledge. With wings furled, he crept as close as he could to the windows. Using Galian’s night vision, he turned his head just enough to look within.

Though mostly intact, there was no sign anyone had been there recently. This wasn’t going to get him anywhere; it seemed likely that Deepground would transmit from a more secure location further inside. He’d probably have better luck if he could get to the communications department; that was where the transmissions were most likely to have come from.

Unfolding his wings, he dropped several stories downward, catching hold of a ledge with his claw to stop his descent. If he remembered correctly, this level held the technical departments. Now if he could recall where the communications area was located...

Choosing a window at random, he smashed the glass and climbed inside, then went still, waiting to see if anyone had noticed the sound of glass breaking. He heard no approaching footsteps, only the creaking of damaged structural supports. 

He went through the building quickly, checking rooms as he passed them, finding no sign of intruders; no footsteps in the dust, nothing that looked recently disturbed. Wherever the transmissions had come from, it wasn’t in this part of the building. That left the lower stories and the basement...wait. The sub-levels. Wouldn’t someone from Deepground naturally choose such a place to work from? 

Vincent took the stairs down, level after level, eventually reaching the first of several underground floors. Here he proceeded more carefully, listening for several minutes before emerging from the stairwell. At the end of the long corridor, an old exit sign cast a feeble red glow over the concrete walls. As he watched, a shadow moved across the light; human, moving steadily from one end of the cross hall to the other. Sentry?

Vincent waited to see if the person came back. He, or she, crossed his line of vision again a few minutes later. Patrolling, possibly. He went down the hall, swift and silent, and when the individual passed the corridor again, he reached out and caught him, pulling him into the shadows in the corridor. 

The claw held the soldier, a young man, tight against the wall, pinching his throat just enough to let him know Vincent meant business. Vincent tossed the man’s gun aside.

“Who else is here?”

“No one,” the soldier gasped. “Just me.”

“Sure.” Vincent’s claw pressed a little tighter. “Who?”

The soldier gagged, jaw working but no sound coming out. Vincent eased off a hair. “Honest to gods it’s just me and the mutts. I’m the only person up here. Everyone’s down lower.”

“Who’s everyone?”

The kid swallowed hard. “Everyone. Troops. Tech staff. Handlers. C’mon, s’Deepground. Everything and everyone’s used to underground. I used to live in Midgar as a kid so they put me topside on guard duty.”

A light flashed on the soldier’s belt; a steady red blinking.

“What’s the light mean?”

The soldier grinned. “Means you’ve got company, dude.”

Six other guards and a pair of...Vincent didn’t even want to know. They must have been animals at one time, but seemed to consist primarily of teeth and tentacles. Six hammers clicked, and the beasts growled and slavered, awaiting permission to sink their teeth into him.

Cerberus was in Vincent’s hand before anyone had time to blink. He picked off two of the guards even as he dodged their bullets, his leap to the side taking him over the backs of the mongrels. One of them snapped its massive jaws, and he let off a shot straight down its throat. 

The thing exploded in a shower of blood and entrails, the surviving guards leaping back a bit to avoid the gore. These weren’t standard-issue Shinra troopers. Although not anything to truly worry about, they were putting up more of a fight than Vincent had expected. The firefight was brief, yet intense, leaving Vincent and the original guard standing in a puddle of blood and other less savory fluids. Claw around the kid’s neck, Vincent tore the alarm from his belt- along with anything else that happened to be hanging from it.

“Who’s in charge? And where are they?”

“Sable and Crimson,” the guard squeaked. “Down below. The command center. Underground.”

“And the prisoners? Are they in this building?”

“Below it. Upper level cell block, I think. I ain’t been down there.” The kid seemed genuinely scared now, which suited Vincent fine. The trouble lay in deciding whether to silence him permanently or not?

Maybe he was getting soft in his old age. Another death amid this debacle seemed obscene. Vincent knocked him out with a hard punch, and left him tied up in a dark corner. He smashed most of the radios, tucking one into a pocket for Elfe. 

Someone had sent those six guards and their beasts. More would be coming shortly to find out what the disturbance was. Still, Vincent hesitated. Two commanders were on the premises - possibly valuable hostages, or at least good sources of information. And then there were Reeve and Veld, likely held in the cell blocks below. This might be his only chance to get them out.

No, he couldn’t risk it. He was only one person, limit breaks notwithstanding. The enemy would be on the alert now, looking for an intruder, which meant additional guards on the prisoners as well. Veld and Reeve would have to wait. 

He still needed to learn what they were using to cloak everything in darkness. With that in mind, Vincent set off to put his old Turk skills to use.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veld talks, and talks fast.

Veld had never been afraid of the dark. But then, he’d always had a choice about it before. If he wanted light, he had only to switch one on. Now he found that his eyes played tricks on him; he saw movements, small sparks, weird colors, that couldn’t be there. The darkness clung like heavy fabric, and made him want to scratch it out of his eyes. He’d lost track of the days; there was no way to tell time in the dark.

Despite the total darkness, he’d examined every inch of his cell that could be reached, running his fingers, both the metal and the flesh, over every brick, every corner, every crack. The walls and the door were solid and immovable. There was a small air vent near the floor, but no window; a thin pallet on the floor, a toilet in one corner. Nothing that could be used as a weapon. If there was a light switch on any wall, he hadn’t found it.

The only time he saw anything was when the portal in the wall slid open to allow his guard to push his food inside. It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t going to starve. The guards were probably on the same slim rations, not that he had much sympathy for them. 

He waited for the sliding door to move, and when it did, he leaned over, stopping it from coming back down with his prosthetic hand.

“Hey,” he said to the faceless guard on the other side of the wall. “Tell your boss I want to speak to him.”

“Forget it,” the guard said. He tried to shut the door again. Veld held it up with both hands.

“Please, just tell him, will you? He’s keeping me here for a reason. He must want something. I’m willing to talk to him. I can be useful. All you have to do is tell him. It’s his decision, isn’t it?”

The guard muttered something and shoved Veld’s hands out of the way, slamming the portal closed. Veld sat on the floor, once more in total darkness, to pick at his meal.

\--

“Well,” the shadow man stated, “if you don’t know where my brother’s being held, what do you know?”

The creature wasn’t seated on a throne, but it was obvious who was in control- not just of the situation, but the troops, old Midgar, everything. This thing was in charge in every possible way, and he knew it. Veld- having been dragged without warning from his cell- squinted up at the figure. After so much time in absolute darkness, even the weak fluorescent light felt like someone had squeezed the entire sun into the...where the hell was he? He chanced a glance around with his eyes alone. Veld blinked, recognizing one of the many staff cafeterias. The darkness hanging thick in every corner made it difficult to discern which one, exactly, it was.

“I know that we’d like to have peace,” he said. “I’d think you’d like the same. Evidently family is as important to you as it is to us. I know how the WRO operates, I know how its founder, Reeve Tuesti, thinks. Release us both, and he and I will do our best to find your brother. After that, perhaps both sides will sit down to talk.”

The creature scowled, a look made all the more fearsome as it was communicated by his eyes alone.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “You return my brother and we’ll withdraw. I’ll even release you and your leader. Believe it or not, I don’t actually like killing things, but you and your kind are making it hard to avoid. I’m not interested in a treaty. You leave us alone, we’ll leave you alone. I just want my brother back, but if you think I’ll surrender a tactical advantage, you can think again.”

“Let me remind you who was the aggressor here. We’re minding our own business, and suddenly the ground erupts with soldiers and….other things.” Veld gave the mage a pointed look. “You can’t blame us if we defend ourselves. Seriously, what did you expect? To be welcomed with open arms?”

“I wasn’t sure how high up it went,” the shadow shrugged. “I had to make sure we’d be free. It wasn’t my idea to launch the initial probes. You can blame your own kind on that.”

Veld bristled. “In what way? I’m not aware of any aggression toward Deepground, and I’m not exactly the new kid on the block. What did we ever do to you?”

“The Restrictors did plenty,” the shadow thing growled. “They were the ones who ordered the original attacks on the surface for fresh meat.”

“Your internal problems can hardly be laid at our door.” Veld crossed his arms. “Look. This is getting us nowhere. You can throw me back in the cell to rot, but that doesn’t get your brother back. I’m offering my services to you, as a go-between. The alternative is to search every structure and every bolt-hole in Midgar and beyond. He might be hurt. How much time do you think he has left? Let me see what I can find out.”

This was a calculated risk. The brother had to be damned dangerous in his own right; if he hadn’t turned up on his own by now, odds were that he was in some kind of trouble. If Shadow, here, thought time was running out, would he opt for Veld’s offer, or just go full Behemoth on them and hope to shake his brother loose in the process? 

Things were bad enough now. Gods help them if the brother was dead.

“Okay,” the shadow said after a moment’s consideration. Veld blinked, having not truly expected his gambit to work. “I’ll let you relay a message to your people. You can tell them you and your commander are safe and unharmed. You ask them where Weiss is, and if he’s okay. If I like what I hear, we can negotiate a prisoner exchange.”

It was both more and less than Veld had hoped for. He’d half expected to be locked up again, or killed on the spot; this creature seemed to have a hair-trigger temper, despite its apparent calm. Relaying a message while in their company, however...he’d have to be extremely careful in what he said. With so little control over this situation, he was steering blind...almost literally.

“No offense meant, but we’re at war,” he said. “How can I trust you, Mister...Have you got a name?”

“Nero,” the shadow supplied. “Tsviet color Sable. Commander General Third Division. You already met Rosso, Tsviet color Crimson. Commander General Second Division.” He nodded at the red-haired woman who seemed to be continually at his elbow.

“Set up the transmitter. I’ll tone the fog down a little so we can get a coherent message through.”

Rosso, Tsviet color Crimson, tossed him a casual salute and wandered off. That left Veld alone in the room with Nero.

“Any idea who came to visit the other day?” he asked, deceptively conversational. “Six men and two pets were slaughtered, and a seventh is in the infirmary. Whoever they were, they didn’t stick around. Was it one of your SOLDIERs?”

Veld had a pretty good idea who it might have been, but he suppressed the small surge of hope, keeping his face bland. If it wasn’t Valentine, he didn’t know who else might have done it. 

“How would I know? I’ve been locked up in the dark for...however long it’s been. And, not to put too fine a point on it, that’s the second time you refused to answer a question. I obviously can’t hurt you, so why the reticence?” 

He was pushing, but this time he knew where to push, to get this bastard focused on him again. 

“All ll I want to know is, what assurance do I have that you’ll hold to your side of the bargain, assuming I agree to a bargain in the first place.”

“First,” Nero began, “I don’t take orders from fucking Shinra anymore.” The words were calm, but cold enough to burn. Veld got the distinct impression that if the kid hadn’t been wearing a mask, he would have spat. “Second, you’ll take it because it’s better than sitting in a dark cell until I feel like letting you see daylight again. I’m not in the habit of giving people opportunities to make trouble. I ask the questions here, not you, and you’re lucky I’m so forgiving. We were never given that kind of leeway.”

“Um, Nero?” Rosso had returned, hesitantly edging into his space and his tirade. “Transmitter’s ready whenever you want it. You wanna kill the fog?”

“Take him first,” Nero instructed.

Stepping around him, Rosso stooped and grabbed Veld by the upper arm in an iron grip. He’d known some powerful women in his time, but this girl was far beyond any of them. Her fingers squeezing his bicep were going to leave a bruise. Maybe that was her intention. He watched, unable to help staring, as Nero uncrossed his arms and held up one hand. He seemed to be calling the darkness back into himself. An endless plume of black spiraled into his open palm. After a few minutes, he closed his fist, and Veld swore the room was brighter.

“There, I’ve taken it down a couple dozen feet. That should get you a decent signal.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Rosso ordered, shoving Veld ahead of her without actually letting go.

“Nero,” Veld said over his shoulder, “I don’t take orders from Shinra either. No one does. They aren’t in charge anymore. If that was your primary objective, it’s over.”

Veld tried to mark where they were taking him, but it was impossible. Any distinguishing details the corridors might have had were lost in shadow. Finally, Rosso shoved him through a door and onto a chair. She produced a zip-tie and secured his hands behind his back.

“Just in case you were thinking of being clever,” she explained with a sweetly menacing smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Veld muttered, although he couldn’t help flexing his arms a little, trying to work a bit of give into the binding.

A sharp slap to the top of his head made him stop.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Rosso scolded and leaned over him to fiddle with the buttons and dials. “I think that’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

“It’s fine,” Nero assured her in a strangely pleasant tone. Veld chalked it up to hearing things for when Nero stepped up to the microphone, he was all cold, calculating business.

“Attention Shinra operatives. Attention. This is Deepground. We have one of your men in custody. He wishes to make a statement.” Stepping back, Nero used one of the claws on his metal wings to bend the microphone towards Veld.

Veld took a few seconds to clear his throat, and his thoughts. He needed to be precise, succinct, and very, very careful.

“This is Veld of the WRO,” he began. “First, I want to assure you that I am at this moment unharmed. I’m told that Director Tuesti is likewise unharmed.” Here, he paused, one eyebrow raised, to glance at Nero, who hadn’t actually produced Reeve or let Veld speak to him. Nero said nothing, giving him no more than the usual icy stare. 

Veld went on. “The mage...sorry, the man who spoke first is the commander of Deepground’s forces, called Nero. You can thank him personally for the unusual atmospheric conditions of late. 

“It’s believed that his brother Weiss is in WRO custody. This is Nero’s demand: In exchange for Weiss, he will release Director Tuesti and myself, and consider withdrawing from Edge.

“To any WRO forces who may be listening, I urge you to take no rash actions. Repeat: WRO, take no rash actions. If anyone knows where the man called Weiss is held, please send a message to…”

He looked at Nero. “Where, exactly?”

“Reply on this frequency,” Nero said. “At least one of you knows where we are, although I wouldn’t advise coming for a visit.”

Veld sighed. “You heard the man. Repeat: If anyone knows the whereabouts of the man called Weiss, please….drop us a line. Ah, without hostilities, please.”

He looked up at Nero. “Happy now? If someone did come poking around, they’ll know you’re expecting them, so I doubt you’ll get any takers that way. Assuming your own men didn’t just have a disagreement that ended badly.”

“They didn’t,” Nero told him calmly, as if the very idea was absurd. “They’d have no reason to kill each other, and especially not their pets.”

Nero turned to eye the console, as if the incoming transmission light would begin flashing at any moment, but none did.

“Put someone on a detail to stand by for a return transmission,” he instructed. “Take Gramps back to his cell.”

“Young man,” said Veld, “a little respect goes a long way. If you want cooperation, it doesn’t hurt. As for that message, you’ll have to give them time to think about it, and to search for your brother.”

“I didn’t become general just because I’m the tallest,” Nero replied calmly, and nodded to Rosso, who grabbed him by one arm and yanked him to his feet. “I know how this works.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re a prodigy,” said Veld. “Let me know if you actually want to have a civil conversation sometime.” 

He glanced at Rosso. “Lead on, madame.”

“Such a gentleman,” she smirked, but she dragged him along with slightly less jerking this time. She somehow managed to slice his bonds and shove him indifferently into his cell, the door slamming shut echoing a long time in the profound darkness.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veld discovers he has a neighbor.

“Veld?”

The whisper woke him from an uneasy doze. Despite the heavy darkness, he’d had little sleep since being locked away.

“Veld? Is that you?”

Veld shifted on his pallet, moving closer to the air vent near the floor. “Reeve?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” The voice wavered a little. “Thank Gaia--are you all right?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“Been better.” A rustle, a low grunt. “Think I sprained my ankle, but I’ll live.”

“How’d that happen?”

“Tried to kick someone’s face in.”

Veld smiled, though Reeve wasn’t able to see it. The Director wasn’t known as a fighter, but he had a temper when pushed hard enough. “I hope you connected.”

“It wasn’t a smart move. The guy wore a visor. Who else is here?”

“Of our side? I haven’t seen anyone.” No point in mentioning the unit he’d lost; Reeve was all too aware of the casualties they’d sustained. Veld wasn’t about to mention the unknown intruder who’d killed six of Nero’s men. Reeve would make the obvious connection, and the hope of rescue might make him careless. “Could be just the two of us.”

“I see. Veld, how deep in it are we?”

“Pretty deep.” Veld hesitated. There was an excellent chance someone was listening in. Saying too much would increase Reeve’s danger as well as his own. 

“They’ve taken Old Midgar.” Deepground would expect him to know that much. “Maybe half of Edge, I’m not sure.”

“The shadows,” said Reeve, voice hushed. “I...think I saw what did that. Still not sure what it was.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it. In fact, I’ve talked to it...to him.”

“Him? It’s human?”

“Alex only knows. He calls himself Nero. Seems to be top dog.”

“Some kind of mage, I assume,” said Reeve. “What do they want?”

“That’s the funny thing,” said Veld, although it wasn’t the least bit humorous. “He says he just wants his brother back. Thinks we’ve got him squirreled away somewhere, and if we release him he’ll think about withdrawing entirely.”

There was a silence as Reeve took that in. “Do you believe him?”

“No,” Veld grunted. “It can’t be that easy. He’s too evasive. Won’t answer questions. There has to be more to it.”

“So...what happens now?”

“I hate to say it, but I don’t know.” Reluctantly, he decided against mentioning the statement Nero had had him transmit. Reeve would want to know what he’d said, who he thought might have heard it, what they were likely to do. The last thing Veld wanted was for names to come out in their whispered conversation...names like Valentine, and Elfe.

“Sorry, Reeve. We’ll have to wait and see.”


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which another prisoner is taken.

Vincent kept to the shadows as he explored the lower levels of the Shinra building. He used maintenance corridors, sliding around HVAC machinery and fiber-optic cables, following the murmur of voices that filtered through the vents. Footsteps echoed over his head; as he’d expected, more guards had been sent to investigate the disturbance. Every moment he spent in this place increased the chances that he’d be discovered.

Killing a few more enemy troops wouldn’t greatly decrease their power, but it would be deeply satisfying. Still, he didn’t dare risk anything of the sort before he’d found out where Reeve and Veld were. He kept moving, as swiftly and silently as possible.

When the voices grew loud enough for him to distinguish words, he stopped, just short of another vent. Light striped the floor in front of him, dust motes dancing as the air was disturbed by the passing of people on the other side. A woman’s voice spoke, and Vincent went still to listen.

“Report, Zeva.”

“Commander.” Another woman. “I found them. Six are dead, as are the beasts. One man’s alive, but unconscious. I had him taken to the infirmary.”

“And the intruder?”

“No sign of them, except...there were some bloody footprints, but they stopped. In the middle of the hall.”

“Did they?” The first woman’s voice held curiosity, with an icy undercurrent that promised mayhem. “Are the prisoners still secure?”

“Yes, Commander,” said Zeva. “The guards on that level report nothing unusual.”

“And your squad searched the area of the disturbance?”

“We did. We found no one. It’s unclear as yet how they got in, but they had to have forced a door or window somewhere in the building.”

Silence followed, but for a few slow steps, hard heels tapping on the floor. Vincent imagined the woman pacing as she thought. 

“Double the guards on the exits and on the prisoners,” she said. “Have a handler take a guard-hound and see if they can sniff out the intruder. Find out where they got in, and seal it off again. And let me know when the survivor wakes, if he does. I’ll question him myself.”

“I shall, Commander.” Footsteps hurried away.

Vincent edged forward a half-step, peering through the vent. The outside gloom seemed to have penetrated every room in the place, but he could make out a tall, slender, female figure, clad in grey and crowned with brilliant red hair. At a guess, this might be the person the young guard had named as “Crimson”. As he watched, she walked a few feet away, toward a bank of computer consoles. He could just barely see the top of someone’s head behind the machines.

“Shelke,” the woman said, “where is Nero now?”

“Mess hall, Level G,” said a voice in a girl’s light timbre.

“About time,” growled Crimson.

“Shall I call him?” asked the girl. She sounded impossibly young.

“No, let him eat. I’ll see to the dead guards myself.”

“He’ll want to know,” said Shelke. “Shall I go and inform him?”

“Yes, why not? Let me know if he has new orders.”

“I will.” The girl--Shelke--emerged from behind the computers. Vincent’s jaw dropped. She was a _child_. 

He watched as she accompanied the woman called Crimson to an exit, the contrast in their heights making her youth painfully evident. No more than chest-high to the woman, with a child’s softly-rounded face, large blue eyes, and brown hair cut in a ragged bob, she couldn’t be above eleven, perhaps twelve years of age. Her small, thin body was clad in grey like all Deepground personnel, and she was armed with a mag rod sheathed on each leg.

It was obscene. For a moment, Vincent nearly forgot about both Veld and Reeve. They were adults, and had known full well what they were getting into in fighting the invaders. Deepground had stolen children, he was well aware; but he hadn’t realized they were forced to fight as well as to fill supportive roles. Veld would be appalled.

He waited until both Crimson and Shelke had left the room, then retraced his steps about halfway to the hall where he’d fought the guards. Deepground was on the alert for him; he needed to get out of here and report to Elfe. If, however, he could first catch Shelke coming back from speaking to this Nero, he might yet accomplish something worthwhile.

A lighter, more rapid tread echoed along the bare floors. The girl Shelke passed almost immediately below him. She paused, looking to the right, to the left, and then straight up, right into his eyes. She didn’t scream, didn’t scowl, didn’t even seem surprised.

“You’re not one of us,” she observed.

Vincent dropped lightly to the floor a couple of feet away. “No. I’m here to help you. It’s all right, I won’t hurt you.”

“Can’t promise you the same,” she commented, pulling out her mag rods. Vincent blinked as she rushed him, reflexes keeping up despite his confusion. He’d never seen anyone so young fight with such strength or precision. What she lacked in height or strength, she made up with speed and agility. Vincent found himself wondering how he was going to catch her without doing her any damage?

First things first. He really didn’t want any interference this time. Ducking under the swing of her weapons, he snatched at the radio on her belt, pulling it free and tossing it down the hall. His left arm came up to meet hers, sparks flying as the metal claw met the live mag rod. 

Before the jolt of electricity could incapacitate his arm, he crushed the rod, and grabbed for her with his other arm, pulling her tight against his body. From this angle, it would be harder for her to hit him with her remaining weapon, or so he hoped.

Shelke twisted and kicked, bringing the remaining mag rod around to smack him as best she could. Too short and too light to escape Vincent’s grasp, she clawed and kicked, trying to free herself. Out of ideas, she brought the rod straight up, hoping to hit Vincent’s face.

He jerked backward, biting his tongue as the edge of the rod briefly grazed his jaw. Shit, that hurt! Even knowing it would heal almost immediately, it still sent a shock of pain all through his head. He grabbed it, again with the claw, and the rod snapped and popped as he broke it in half. 

“That’s enough,” he grunted. He was nearly out of time; someone was bound to come this way before long. Yanking off his cloak, he threw it over her head. It took him several tries to wrap her securely in it, rather like trying to wrap an enraged cat in a towel. 

With several layers of cloth over her face, her screams were muffled. Carrying her over one shoulder, he headed for the upper level and the broken window, where he took Chaos’s form once more, and flung himself out of the window into the night.

\--

Shelke had stopped struggling once they were airborne; perhaps she knew it would be unwise to be dropped while several hundred feet above ground. She had even been quiet as he brought her inside and- for lack of a better idea- to a holding cell. If nothing else, he didn’t trust her not to attack anyone else, and mere mortals might not fare so well.

“The hell?” Elfe asked blankly as Vincent unwrapped his passenger.

“Do I really have to explain?” he said. “She’s a child. She was armed with mag rods. They’re using _children_ to fight, for gods’ sake! If I didn’t want to end them before, I sure as hell do now.”

Shelke scowled up at him, hair a mess. “I’m not a child!” she insisted. After a moment she turned her accusing glare on Elfe. “Where am I?”

“In good hands,” Elfe assured her. “You got a name, half-pint?”

Her scowl deepened. “Shelke; Tsviet Transparent.”

“Bless you.”

Shelke rolled her eyes. She might not be a child, but she was probably just into her teens. “Elite SOLDIER corps; non-combative.”

“Felt pretty damn combative to me,” Vincent grumbled. “She’ll have to be questioned. I’ll have her...er, secured. And then we need to talk.”

When a couple of guards had escorted Shelke to another room, he turned to Elfe. “I couldn’t get near the prisoners’ holding area, but I did get some names. Two of the commanders were in the building, known as Crimson and Sable. Someone of importance is called Nero. What’s been going on since I left?”

“Veld’s alive and so is Reeve,” she told him, giving him the good news first. “Radio transmission came through about an hour ago. Veld did most of the talking, though the Nero guy opened for him. They think we have Nero’s brother Weiss in custody. We hand him over, he’ll give back Veld and Reeve and retreat. We’ll probably have to argue how far he’ll retreat, but I’ve got to find this Weiss guy.” A pause. “...that’s not the big guy in medical, is it? The one whose mom came looking for him?”

It took Vincent a moment to find his voice. “Actually, it is. The woman...Argento...used that name. Oh my gods. Elfe, did you guys record this transmission? I want to hear it.”

Elfe had her aide replay the message for him. Listening, Vincent almost smiled. 

“Veld put as much info into that as he could. This man Nero’s a mage, he’s causing the blackouts. Veld’s not harmed ‘at this moment’, meaning he doesn’t trust this Nero not to change that; he’s been told Reeve’s okay, but can’t confirm it. And telling the WRO not to take any rash actions? Means anyone else is free to have at it.”

He eyed Elfe. “That means you. And me, because I never officially joined the WRO.”

“And my band of merry men?” she asked, a smirk slanting her features. “None of the Avalanche vigilantes I brought with me joined either. Only thing is, I hate to throw good men at this. You said Nero’s responsible for the darkness. Do they have some sort of industrial fog machine or something?”

“I doubt it. Veld made a point of saying mage, so he’s using magic. Elfe, I have a feeling that if we get this guy, we’ll come a helluva lot closer to winning than we have since this thing started. I’m just not sure if we should take him up on his offer. Seems odd that they would come this far and then call it all off as soon as he gets this Weiss back.”

“Are they all magic-users? That might explain why we’ve been getting our asses handed to us so often. Most of our infantry is about firepower, not actual fire.

“The other thing that gets me is that he’s asking for his family,” Elfe went on. “We don’t know a ton about Deepground, but they don’t strike me as the type to be especially lovey-dovey even with their own flesh-and-blood. You think he’s got an ulterior motive?” A pause. “I guess we could run it past Weiss’ mom.”

“I suppose we could. You want to come with me and talk to her now?”

Vincent led the way to the cells, stopping to make sure that Shelke seemed all right and was being properly cared for. She had a rude gesture for him, and no words, so apparently she would keep for now.

The guard let Vincent and Elfe into Weiss’s cell, staying just outside in case he was needed. 

“Ma’am,” said Vincent to Argento. “Are you well? How’s your son?”

“Unchanged,” she said with a sigh. “What do you seek?”

“We’ve received a transmission from a man called Nero,” said Vincent, “offering to trade Weiss for a couple of our men. Can you tell us what would be his motivation for this? He already holds a large part of our territory; he has no reason to stand down. Why would he make this offer?”

“Nero is my second son,” she explained, “Weiss’ half-brother. For as long as they lived, they have never been apart. Separation would be a punishment crueler than any other. However, I fear even being united with one another would cause pain. Weiss yet suffers from an illness that is strange to me. Something plagues his mind, I know not what.”

“He was injured in battle,” Vincent reminded her, “although I’m sure he has SOLDIER-grade healing abilities. It’s possible there were after-effects of the head injury. And, if you don’t mind me asking, why would being reunited with his brother cause pain? I’d think it would help him.”

“Because he does not remember much,” Argento said quietly. “He was afflicted before this. His injury upon the field of battle did not aid it. He has not been himself for some time.”

“Are you...saying that he should not be returned?” On the one hand, Weiss could very well be the only advantage they possessed; on the other, keeping him could result in Veld’s and Reeve’s deaths, to say the least. He had no idea how far Nero would go to gain his brother’s return.

“What has he offered in exchange for his brother’s life? My children may seem ruthless, but they are honorable.”

Both Elfe and Vincent had their doubts about that. Deepground could have withdrawn at any time, before they lost Weiss.

“He says he’ll withdraw,” said Vincent. “Why would he fight for weeks and claim so much territory, only to withdraw in return for one man?”

Argento was silent for a long moment, deeper thoughts than either of them could fathom flicking rapidly behind her eyes.

“Did he not ask after me?” she asked.

Vincent exchanged a glance with Elfe before answering. “No, but I don’t know if he’s aware you were captured. Sorry.”

“If the opportunity arises, I should like to speak with him. He may listen to reason if I am the one to speak it. As for his assault upon the Surface....” She heaved a sigh; a sound too big and too heavy for her small body. “How does one explain the logic of a culture, a people, bred and trained to fear those above them? I can only guess as to Nero’s motives, but I suspect much was done in pain and anger. He is not by nature a violent soul, but his father’s death woke something in him…”

She trailed off as Weiss stirred and began to whimper. He pulled at the heavy chains, which creaked dangerously but held fast.

“Ma’am...Argento,” said Vincent. “It might be better for you to stay in another room. He’s dangerous, and you said yourself he doesn’t remember things. He may harm you.”

She seemed amused at the very idea. “I taught him to fight. I taught them all. Not once has he so much as bruised my skin. No, he will not harm me. Indeed, I am one of few who could subdue him should be become agitated.”

“If you say so.” Vincent wasn’t convinced, but short of dragging her out of the room, there wasn’t much he could do. He shrugged; she was a Tsviet, she knew her business...and her son.

“Elfe, anything you want to ask?”

Elfe thought for a minute and shook her head. “Why don’t you think about what you want to say to Nero? We owe him a reply. It might go over better if you do the talking for us.”

Argento nodded. “Very well.”

“Alright, I’ll alert you when everything’s ready.”


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent and Elfe try to get some information from Shelke.  
> Also, Vincent discovers someone is going around with his face.

“Why don’t you come with me to talk to Shelke?” Vincent suggested. “I imagine it would be less frightening to have a woman there.”

“Yeah, alright,” Elfe agreed. “I know what it is to be young and on your own. Gods know what she’s had to deal with.”

Shelke was sitting sullenly on the bunk in one of the cells. She scowled at both of them and did not move. Indeed, she made a point of looking away.

“Shelke,” Elfe began, “we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Shelke pretended she had not heard.

“What was your position in Deepground?” Vincent began. “No offense, but even with the mag rods, it’s unlikely they’d use you on the front lines.”

“Support staff,” Shelke said shortly. “Communications.”

“You must be pretty smart,” Elfe said, somehow managing to be kind without being patronizing. Shelke shrugged.

“How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?”

Another shrug. “Something like that.”

Vincent tried again. “Were you born there, or did they abduct you? If it’s the latter, we can try to find your family. You won’t ever have to go back there.”

“My family is dead,” Shelke replied flatly. “I _want_ to go back. I didn’t ask or need to be rescued.”

Elfe, much like her father, barely batted an eye at this remark. Kids stolen from their families at a young age were easily conditioned. Shelke probably truly believed that she belonged in Deepground.

“That’s not going to happen,” said Vincent. “Tell me who Nero is.”

“Commander, Third Division.”

“Do you know why he attacked Midgar and Edge?”

“He wanted to make sure he got rid of Shinra.”

Elfe exchanged a look with Vincent. “Shelke, Shinra’s gone. Nothing’s organized under one giant name anymore. The WRO is the closest thing we’ve got, and that’s more of a network of people trying hard to make sure things don’t get any worse for the civilians.”

“Prove it,” Shelke challenged.

“Look, you were in the old Shinra building,” said Vincent. “Or under it. It was nearly destroyed by Meteor. There isn’t a Shinra left in there. And if you’ve seen WRO troops, you must have seen that none of them wear the Shinra logo.”

“Whatever,” Shelke rolled her eyes. “Different uniforms, same thing. We’re done taking orders. Nero calls the shots now. If you’ve got Weiss, give him back. It’s as simple as that.”

“And then what? Nero packs up his goodies and goes home? Please.” Vincent turned to Elfe. “We’re not getting anywhere with her, she’s too far down the food chain. I’m done here.”

The room had grown dim. There were no windows within the cell, so Elfe squinted at the overhead lights. They were still turned on, but didn’t seem to be having much effect on the gathering darkness.

“Vin, does Chaos have something he wants to share?” Elfe guessed.

Vincent shook his head, fingering Cerberus. “This isn’t me…”

Without warning, Shelke shot up and darted for the darkest corner. A pair of luminous golden eyes peered from within the growing darkness. Two ghostly white arms traced in black reached out and Shelke threw herself into them. The arms snatched her up and held her, the vague outline of a tall body becoming apparent as Shelke wrapped her arms around it.

“The hell?” Elfe demanded of no one in particular as she grabbed her sword. Pulling it from its sheath, she lunged at the darkness, only to bounce back off solid concrete. It took her a moment to pick herself up, grumbling curses. Shelke and the intruder were fast disappearing into darkness.

“Get back, Elfe!” Red leather wings burst from Vincent’s back as he lunged toward the shadows, Chaos’s spiked coronet appearing above fiery eyes. He grabbed Shelke, tearing her from the shadow-thing’s grip and passing her to Elfe in one move.

“ _Nero!_ ” Shelke screamed as Elfe hauled her out of the cell and into the hall. “Let me go! _NERO!_ ”

Chaos reached for the shadow-creature, pulling it forward into the cell, his hands tight around its throat. It looked like a man, long and lean, shadows swirling around it, a white face half covered by some sort of mask.

The figure gasped, and locked long-fingered hands around Chaos’ wrist, twisting painfully. A metallic skeleton of wings fanned out behind it, a pistol poised in each claw. Two warning shots were fired as the thing kicked at Chaos and tried to wrench free.

Chaos’s wings snapped forward, slapping the pistols down. Ignoring the thing’s frantic kicks, he reached for the mask and yanked it from the creature’s face.

“Gaia!” Vincent stared from Chaos’s eyes into a face that looked enough like his own to be his twin. “What in all the hells…?”

The thing- the man- gagged, coughed, clutched at his throat. Drawing a horrible, rasping breath, he gagged a second time. Dark gray had begun to creep into the deathly white pallor of his freakishly familiar face. Taking advantage of Chaos’ stunned disbelief, he grabbed the mask, clapped it over his face, and vanished. Chaos stood alone in the stark light of the holding cell, barely a shadow in sight.

_What was that?_ Chaos said, voice echoing in Vincent’s mind.

“How should I know?” More rattled than he wanted to admit, Vincent let the wings recede, as Chaos, still grumbling, slowly faded into otherwhere, leaving confusion behind. Going to the door, Vincent looked out into the hall.

“Elfe? It’s gone. Is Shelke all right?”

“Define ‘all right’,” Elfe replied. Shelke had her face buried in Elfe’s bosom, sobbing miserably. “She’s not hurt, but I think it scared her.”

“I’m not scared!” Shelke wailed. “I want to go home! Why’d you grab me back? He wouldn’t have hurt me, he’s my _brother!_ ”

Vincent shook his head. Sympathy for one’s abductor was not unheard of. It would take time for Shelke to accept that her true home was above-ground.

“Did you see it?” he asked Elfe. “Did you….see its face?”

Elfe shook her head. “Just the eyes and the hands. Why?”

“Elfe, it...he...looks like me. I don’t mean superficially. I mean _exactly_ like me, except for the eyes.”

Silence stretched for a long moment. Keeping eye-contact with Vincent, Elfe spoke to Shelke.

“It’s okay, Shelke. Tell you what? How ‘bout I take you to see Weiss? His mom is with him. You could hang out with them for a little while.”

“Wait- you mean Argento is here too?” Shelke looked up, her tear-streaked face hopeful.

“Yeah, she’s been sitting with Weiss while he recovers.”

“I want to see them,” Shelke announced.

“Okay.”

\--

Once Shelke had been left in the care of her family- Elfe assumed it was foster family, none of them bore even a remote resemblance to each other- Elfe turned to Vincent.

“What do you mean the shadow thing looked just like you?”

“I mean it was like looking into a mirror.” Vincent stopped pacing around Elfe’s small command center. “Same shape face, maybe a little bit softer around the edges; same nose, same mouth. If his eyes were red you wouldn’t be able to tell us apart.”

“So...is there something you want to tell me?” Elfe drawled.

“Elfe.” Vincent rolled his eyes. “No. I had nothing to do with it. If anything, it’s probably Shinra’s fault. Some sort of clone project. There could be copies of all of us wandering around Deepground, for all I know.”

She rubbed unconsciously at the joint of her prosthetic. “Yeah. Okay. I guess that’s possible. Hard to think I was down there myself, once. How’d you get rid of your doppelganger so quickly?”

“He’s wearing some kind of breathing mask.” Vincent waved vaguely at his own face. “I pulled it off. Can’t fight if you can’t breathe. Did Shelke call him Nero? That’s the guy who’s responsible for all of this!”

His fingers curled into a fist, closing and opening a few times. “Wish I’d kept my grip on him. This could be done by now. All of it.”

“He’s got a weakness, then,” Elfe agreed. “It’s something. How the hell did he even get in here, or out again? Veld said this Nero guy is responsible for the blackout. Did he use the shadows for cover? When I tried to rush him I just hit the wall. How’d you manage to get that close?”

Vincent shrugged. “Chaos. The shadows didn’t even slow him down. Elfe, we need to move. Fast. If Nero found us once, he can do it again. Get the prisoners ready to go.”

Elfe had a speculative look on her face, as if she might find the answers to their problems if she studied his features long enough. “We’re pretty deep into secure territory,” she mused. “How do you think he found us? Why hasn’t he found Weiss already if he can move like that? Or did something lead him here? Maybe someone?”

“You think he followed me?” Vincent asked, incredulous and mildly insulted. “How? Chaos flew the whole way back here.”

“I’m saying it’s possible,” Elfe said gently. “I’ll get everyone organized, but I think we ought to let his mom send him that message. He might be in the mood to negotiate now that we’ve got three family members and not just one.”

“After we’re in a safer place,” said Vincent. “Let’s go before he recovers enough to come back, with reinforcements. She can send her message later.”

“Alright. Let’s get moving, then.”


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep moving

“Nero!” There were no Restrictors to see or to stop her, so Rosso rushed to Nero’s side at once. He stood bent double, gasping for every breath, mask pressed to his face with both hands.

“What happened? Did it break?” she asked, slipping the bands over his head to keep it in place. Nero’s breathing had steadied if not necessarily evened.

“They have Shelke,” he rasped. “I couldn’t save her.”

“I told you!” Rosso scolded gently, placing one hand on his back. Shelke’s disappearance had registered almost immediately. No physical evidence had been left besides her ruined mag rods, and her radio. However, Nero had detected a less corporeal trail: the tell-tale scent of dark mako. Before Rosso could admonish him not to be an idiot, he’d dived into the shadows after his little sister.

“They had… They had… I don’t know. Something dark.”

“Dark?” Rosso blinked, confused. “As in dark mako?”

Nero nodded, still panting. “He looks just like me.”

For a long moment they stood silent, each contemplating the other. For as long as either of them could remember, Nero had been the only Tsviet ever given dark mako. Now, it seemed, there was a SOLDIER who’d had similar treatment.

“Okay, so, he’s got to be a clone,” Rosso reasoned aloud. “Hell, Sephiroth and his buddies each had hundreds of clones and copies. Figures the Restrictors would keep something like that a secret.”

Nero nodded. “Right. You’re right. The problem is, he doesn’t seem to be affected by my shadows.”

Rosso waved this away with one hand. “So what? Bet he’s not immune to steel or lead.”

Behind the mask, Nero grinned. “No, probably not.”

“So that’s Shelke and Weiss,” Rosso mused. “That’s us fifty-fifty. Now what?”

“I heard them talking to Shelke,” Nero replied. “They think she’s a child. If they believe she’s just some brainwashed kid, they’re likely to be more lenient with her, which means she can help herself and us from the inside.”

Turning, he whistled at the nearest dark corner, his mask rendering the sound into a screeching train whistle. A blob of darkness detached itself and scuttled toward him. The creature wasn’t large, perhaps the size of small dog, but its shape was more reminiscent of an ant.

“Ned, go find Shelke,” Nero instructed. “You and the others help her if you can. Report back whatever you find.”

Ned stood on his hind legs and saluted with a forepaw before turning and disappearing into shadow once more.

\--

Elfe’s vigilantes and what remained of Vincent’s troops packed up and decamped in less than an hour. Vincent watched as Weiss was loaded into a van, chains still in place; Argento rode with him, one hand stroking his hair, speaking softly to him. It must have worked; Weiss remained mostly in a semi-conscious state, occasionally stirring, but he made no attempt to escape.

Elfe took Shelke with her in her own transport. Vincent would have insisted the girl’s hands be bound, but at one look from Elfe, he dropped the subject. 

“We’re running out of places to go,” he told Elfe. “If Nero finds us again…” He let that thought trail off. Deepground had superior firepower, and with a man who could travel via shadow, maybe they were delusional to think they still had a chance to win.

With the prisoners under lock and key again, and guards at the perimeters, Vincent sat down with Elfe. 

“Tell me the truth. Am I being an idiot? Should we just give in and hand over the Tsviets, and hope that’s an end to it?”

Elfe rubbed her face with her flesh hand, a gesture reminiscent of Veld. “Gods, I don’t know,” she sighed. “I want to keep fighting but I’m not sure it’s worth it. I’d rather save lives than cities. However, Nero’s family are the only leverage we have. If we give them back, that leaves us in a worse position than we’re currently in. What’s to stop them from overrunning not just Edge, but Kalm and Junon too? We have no real idea of their numbers or their capabilities.”

“I think we’re at a stalemate then,” said Vincent. “They’ve got Reeve and Veld, two of our strongest leaders. We’ve got their family--or his. I don’t know if the other commander, Rosso, is related or not. So what do we do? Threaten each other? I think we know how that will turn out.”  
He sat quietly for a moment, thinking. “I could go back, see if I can Veld or Reeve, try to find out more about their strengths. We need better intelligence before we make a decision.”

 

Elfe nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. “The darkness didn’t affect you,” she mused. “We still need to get a reply transmission. Cop to having them. All of them. Put them each on to let him know they’re okay. Hell, if you’re really feeling brave…” She trailed off, casting a questioning look at Vincent.

“You’re not my first choice for diplomacy, but you’re all we’ve got right now.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he muttered. “I don’t know what the deal is with the shadows, but I have no problem going back in. Maybe I can grab Nero and complete the set.”

Elfe shook her head. “No, I mean to negotiate. Maybe we can start small? Although...I hate to give Shelke back. She has it in her head that her home is with those freaks. A kid shouldn’t have to deal with that. Before we surrender anyone, we should at least try to nail down what we get in return besides Veld and Reeve back in one piece. I know Argento said Nero’s trustworthy, but we don’t know how far she can throw him.”

“You want to give someone back as a gesture of goodwill? My gut instinct is to keep all of them until we see some sign that they want to cease hostilities. Up to this point, he’s just done whatever the hell he wants.”

He sighed. “It would have to be Shelke, wouldn’t it? Argento won’t leave Weiss, and he’s the bigger prize. If we give him back we’ve got no leverage at all. They’ll run over us like a rabid behemoth.”

“I know,” Elfe groaned. “Gods, what a fine time for my maternal instinct to kick in.” Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she gave a heavy sigh. “I guess she’s lasted this long. Could always make the offer that if she ever wants to leave Deepground, we’re here. Kid like her, you’re not gonna make her do anything she doesn’t want to.”

“Unless you throw a cloak over her head and haul her away by main force,” said Vincent, not quite smiling. “How about we let Argento send that message, and meanwhile I’ll see if I can get back in, and spirit Veld and Reeve out the same way I did Shelke. Imagine the shadow-king’s face when he finds out his prisoners are gone.”

Elfe bit her lip. “It’s not his face I’m worried about.”

\--

Weiss did not rouse himself until long after they and the other prisoners and troops had been settled in their new location. He blinked, as if truly waking for the first time, and looked around, confused. There was a not insignificant gap between he and Nero inciting the rebellion within Deepground; killing the Restrictors and leading an assault on the Surface and now. How the hell had he ended up here?

“Weiss?” Argento looked down at him, voice heavy with concern. “My son, what ails you?”

“Nothing,” he replied, despite what was surely a monumental hangover. He had no way to prove it since he’d never been drunk. However, Weiss was pretty sure the splitting headache was an apt comparison. “The hell is this?”

“You do not remember.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement, and that chilled him more than anything.

“Not really,” he admitted.

“I have been told that Shinra is gone, long defeated by others. There is something now called the WRO that strives to maintain peace and order. They insist they have no ties with Shinra, though I have nothing by which to judge this. You were badly wounded, and captured. I came to take you home. Shelke is here also. We are all of us prisoners, but you may expect to be treated well.”

Weiss nodded and regretted the motion at once. He lay back on the pallet, eyes closed, as he waited for the room to stop spinning.

“What about Nero ‘n Rosso?”

“They remain underground. They seek you constantly.”

“We still fighting?”

“We appear to be at an impasse,” Argento explained. “Nero wishes for you to be returned. I know not if he is aware of my and Shelke’s capture. The WRO does not wish to relinquish what bargaining power they have, and Nero will not rest until he is at your side once again.”

Weiss smiled. If nothing else, he could always count on Nero.

“Do you think you might be well enough to speak?” Argento asked. “Shelke and I have been asked to prove ourselves alive and well for Nero and Rosso. I know he would be greatly comforted to hear your voice.”

“I can do that,” Weiss said with more conviction than he felt. Mostly he felt exhausted and nauseated.

“Rest,” Argento hold him, laying one small hand on his arm. “It will be some time before all is ready.”

“Okay,” Weiss agreed, and closed his eyes on the still-spinning world.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Veld bargains.

It usually took Nero an hour or so to recover from an incident without his mask. As acting leader he did not have a lot of time to himself, but Rosso was adamant he rest. It hadn’t taken much cajoling to get him to retreat to the dark mako pools hidden miles below even the deepest of Deepground’s basements. He’d be fine, but Rosso wanted to make sure he stayed that way.

Whoever had torn off Nero’s mask now knew his weakness. It was his only vulnerability. If he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fight. Nero had proven just how strong he truly was in the last few months, but none of that would mean a thing if he died of suffocation. Normally no one could penetrate Nero’s shadows to even get close enough to touch him. Nero had spent his life assuming he was an experiment gone so wrong that it had never been repeated. The Restrictors, unsurprisingly, had lied. Shinra had a second shadow mage and Rosso was going to find out who they were.

Marching down to the holding cells, Rosso slapped on the lights. The sudden brightness was accompanied by startled groans from the prisoners.

Veld rose, shading his eyes with one hand. There was no way he was going to face whatever it was lying down.

Squinting a bit, he recognized the red-haired woman in the doorway. “Well, if it isn’t Little Miss Muffet. I suppose the Goblin King wants to see me again?”

Rosso wasn’t much for either pop culture or sass. Stooping, she seized him by the collar and pinned him against the wall.

“I have one question for you: what’s immune to darkness and has my brother’s face?” The riddle might have come from the sphynx herself, but Veld was one of very few who might know the answer.

“It stole Shelke,” she went on, “and we’re reasonably sure it also killed six men and two pets. So.” She adjusted her grip somewhat roughly so that she was holding him by the throat, just hard enough to make breathing or talking difficult, but not impossible. “I’m listening.”

“And I’d be glad to enlighten you,” he said evenly, “except I really couldn’t say. I don’t mind admitting I’ve never met anyone like Nero. Are you sure something didn’t escape from your own labs?”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t become you,” Rosso told him in a tone of one who expected better. “You’ve got at least one operative capable of getting in and out of here. I want a name.” She paused, considering him, his unshaven chin and rumpled clothes. “You know, it’s funny. They took Shelke, but they didn’t come looking for you.”

“I’m replaceable,” he told her. “Been around a long time, as you’ve so graciously noted. Losing me wouldn’t hurt them much.” 

He reached up with his metal hand and took hold of her wrist, exerting just enough pressure to get his point across. “My dear, this is all very dramatic, but the fact is, I can’t give you a name. You’ll have to do your own dirty work. I’m sure you’re more than capable.”

She didn’t even flinch. “I don’t believe you,” she said calmly. “Shinra killed most of its SOLDIERs in the Wutai war, and then Meteorfall. We killed whoever was left. Anyone still standing would be a Third Class or worse. There can’t be many of them, and they don’t have that level of skill or training.”

Perhaps as a concession of sorts, she eased the pressure off his throat and let him slide down the wall until his feet touched the floor. “You know way more than you let on. I’m not asking where your HQ is, or threatening what you love. I’m trying to protect what’s important to me. So tell me. What the hell leaves a triple-bullet hole in a wall? And if you say ‘a gun’ so help me I will break something non-essential but extremely annoying.”

Veld thought about that, but not for very long. “Then I guess you’ll understand why I have nothing to say. Both sides are trying to protect what they value. You people started this. Why should I help you finish it? I believe you when you say you’re going to hurt me. I just don’t think it’s a very good negotiation technique. If you have nothing else to offer, you might as well begin.”

“My people didn’t start this,” she said quietly, “Shinra did. I know you said Shinra’s gone, but again, I don’t believe you.”

For a long moment she studied him, golden eyes catslit against the fluorescent lights searching his weathered features for an answer to a question she’d not yet asked.

“Okay,” she said at last. “I will be the first to admit I don’t speak Surface. What do you want?”

It sounded more like a danger sign than a concession. Veld considered his options. “Well, obviously, I want out. I’m no good to anyone in here. I told your CO that I could help him, but all he wants to do is throw shadows around and make things difficult. One thing I did pick up was that you were all seeking freedom. You’ve got it now. You can go anywhere. Why are you still here?”

“Because my brother is,” she said simply. At last, she let him go. “Here’s what we want: our family back, and to be left the hell alone. We get Weiss and Shelke back, we’ll retreat. You can have your city back, but we keep Midgar.”

Leaning back on one leg, she considered him. “You know how to talk, I’ll give you that. So talk. How can you help?”

What Elfe and Vincent, not to mention Reeve himself, would say about this was up for debate. If he knew Valentine, he’d want to keep fighting. On the other hand, of all people, Veld had a decent chance of convincing him that it wasn’t worth it. Deepground was too powerful. Why not give up Midgar if it meant peace?

“I can act as a go-between for you. I can find out where Weiss and Shelke are being held, and give my people your request to be left alone. Not sure what they’ll say about Midgar - there’ve been times I was ready to sell it to the highest bidder myself. But we might have a basis for an understanding here. They’ll listen to me before they’ll listen to you. Here’s the thing: Most Surface people refuse to negotiate with terrorists...even to save hostages. You’re not making a good case by holding prisoners.”

“Terrorists?” she seemed amused at the idea. “So you’ll let your own people rot and die just because you don’t deal with savages?” She gave a short bark of a laugh. “And you think we’re cold-blooded!”

“I didn’t say that.” Veld looked her straight in the eyes, although it meant he had to crane his neck a bit. “I said we don’t negotiate. There are other ways. Please give my condolences to the families of those six men, won’t you?”

“I can’t. They’re dead.” She looked at him again, golden eyes trying to stare through to his skeleton. “Alright. I’ll talk to Nero. If he agrees that we might need a translator, you’ll see me again. We might have a job for you.”

“Something to look forward to.” He gave her a slight, ironic smile. “Any chance of leaving the lights on?”

Rosso shrugged and left, closing the door behind her. The lights did not go out.

\--

The next day Veld found himself once more frog marched out of his cell and down a dark corridor. He suppressed the urge to grumble; he’d been expecting it, though not so soon. In the last few hours, he’d mapped out a plan to escape, involving the materia in his arm, the portal through which his food was delivered, and an inattentive guard. The scheme was insurance against the off-chance that Nero wouldn’t take him up on his offer to act as go-between.

He’d be stupid not to, but any man who could slaughter the Restrictors- whatever they were-, unite the varied denizens of Deepground, and lead them to victory in unfamiliar terrain definitely wasn’t stupid. Thirty years of managing the Turks had taught Veld to see beneath the masks most people wore. Now he was about to learn if he’d read Nero as well as he thought he had.

The shadow-mage stood in the same cafeteria as before, his arms crossed over his chest. Tall, lean, black-haired, radiating dark energy, he could have passed for Valentine if not for the golden eyes and the mask covering half of his face. Same build, same fluid grace, same efficiency of movement…damn, but Veld was going to have some questions for his old partner, assuming he got out of this alive.

Rosso, of course, stood next to Nero again, but not so far away that she couldn’t stop Veld in the event he did anything regrettable. Veld nodded, acknowledging her. She stared back, silent, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

“Rosso told me you offered to help us,” the mage began. “I want to hear it from you directly.”

“I offered to act as go-between,” Veld clarified. “You let me go, I’ll talk to my people about what you want. You said you want your family returned. That still the top priority?”

“Of course.” Nero’s eyes flickered, as though he’d been about to roll them hard enough to hurt. Veld revised his estimate of the man’s age downward by at least a decade.

“Also, going by what you’ve said before: You want to be free, you want to be left alone, and you want Midgar. Is that true?”

“It is.”

“Okay then,” Veld went on. “Obviously we want you gone; personally I’d kiss Midgar goodbye in a second, but it’s not entirely my decision. I can argue in favor of it, though. I can’t guarantee the outcome, but I can swear to present your demands, wait for an answer, and bring that answer back to you. They’ll probably want to meet with you in person, on neutral ground. But I can get things started.”

Nero said nothing at first. He looked at Rosso, and she looked at him; some communication seemed to flow between them, two pairs of golden eyes sparking in argument, or agreement, Veld couldn’t tell which. He waited, aware of the guards at his back, the creeping shadows that looked much too alive. He wondered what day it was, what hour, and if he’d see another.

“I don’t trust you,” said Nero, taking a step toward Veld. “How do I know you’ll come back? You could disappear -- rejoin your people or just run away, and we’ll be right where we left off.”

“I’ll swear on anything you like,” said Veld, though what this odd creature would hold sacred, he couldn’t guess. “I want this over with as much as you do.”

“No,” said Nero. “Words don’t mean much. I have to be sure you’ll keep your promise. I’m going to let you out, but there’s a condition.”

He motioned to the guards, who took hold of Veld’s arms again, their grip tight enough to hurt.

“Do you know how the Restrictors kept us from leaving?” Nero asked. His hand strayed to the back of his neck. “We all had microchips implanted. They were used for punishment, and to prevent escape. There was a limit to how far you could go. If anyone stepped over the line--literally--they would explode and kill you.”

Veld opened his mouth to speak, but Nero kept on. “We never trashed the labs, and we didn’t kill all of the medical technicians. You’re going to get a chip. It will be programmed to allow you to go back to Edge--but if I were you, I wouldn’t go past the city limits.”

Was that a smirk, behind that breathing mask? Certainly there was one on Rosso’s face. Veld stayed still, waiting for the surge of adrenaline to fade before it could spike the materia in his arm. He could not win a fight here and now. Sighing, he allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and take a long, slow breath.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”

It wasn’t, after all, the worst thing that could happen.


	10. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss is made aware of the situation.

“So let me get this straight,” Weiss began. “I went up against a Force of Nature, got my ass handed to me, and have been only semi-conscious since then. What with being comatose, I got captured, Argento came to find me and make sure I was okay. In the meantime, Shelke got kidnapped and brought here. Nero and Rosso are holding down the fort, and also have two prisoners. So far nobody wants to blink first as far as a prisoner swap goes.”

Shelke nodded. “Pretty much. They’re supposed to give Nero an answer and let him know we’re okay.”

“Do you think their leader would speak with me?” Weiss asked. “I mean, I’m technically the leader of our forces.”

“We have theirs, so I think you outrank whoever’s running the show here,” Shelke pointed out. “Some guy in a red cloak and a lady with a prosthetic arm. Vincent and Elfe.”

Weiss nodded. “Okay. I need to talk to them, and we need to figure out what we’re going to say.”

\--

Rather than escort three prisoners to the communications room, Elfe brought a laptop to them. It would be safer and simpler on a number of levels. If nothing else, she didn’t fancy trying to escort anyone who needed chains designed for a railroad car in order to keep him restrained. Argento had passed word that Weiss was awake and lucid and wanted to talk.

He was standing and waiting for them, his mother and sister flanking him on either side looking far more like a pocket-sized military inspection than the denizens of a sick room. It came as a bit of a surprise that standing, Weiss was scarcely a hand-width taller than Elfe was herself. He was, however, twice as broad. Indeed, she wondered if he’d have to turn sideways to fit his shoulders through the door. The chains were looped over his wrists and forearms, but Elfe got the distinct impression that this was done out of courtesy and not necessity.

“Feeling better,” Elfe observed.

“Yes, thank you,” Weiss said in a deep, yet even tone. For some reason, she had not expected him to be so polite. “I appreciate the consideration you’ve shown Argento, Shelke, and myself.”

Or articulate. Well, looks could be deceiving, after all. Elfe set the laptop down and set up the program. Vincent swept through the door after her and gave all three of the captive Tsviets a mistrustful look. Argento returned it with a wry smile, and Vincent ducked his chin behind the high collar of his cloak. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Elfe keyed the frequency.

“We have your leader and one of your captains in custody,” Weiss went on. “I understand Nero wants to trade. Let us go, and we’ll well and truly go. We have no interest in Edge, but Midgar is ours.”

“If you want it, you can have it,” Elfe tried not to growl. There was barely anything left of Midgar except tumbled buildings and mako-enhanced monsters anyway. “What guarantee do we have that you’ll retreat and stay put?”

Lifting his arms, Weiss pulled. The links of the heavy chains- each one the size of cinder block- groaned and snapped.

“I could have done that at any time,” he said, allowing the links to fall to the floor. “I’m playing by your rules for the sake of Argento and Shelke. I could probably punch my way out of here, but I’m not leaving them.” He let the chains slide to the floor in a deafening clatter. “So. I’ll be good so long as you’re good to them.”

Elfe had no reply to that. Nor, it seemed, did Vincent. Both of them stared silently at the broken chains for a moment before shaking themselves and returning to business.

“Nero’s been harping on releasing you and Shelke. He hasn’t said anything about Argento.”

“I was with their father when he died,” Argento said quietly. “It is likely he believes me to be dead as well.”

Weiss looked at her sharply.

“I’m sorry,” was all she said.

Silence hung thick and cold for several moments. Taking a breath, Weiss shook it off and stared them down again.

“Well,” he began, “Nero’s not going to retreat without us, and you won’t give us up without insurance. What can we do?”

“Ask him to release Veld and Reeve,” said Vincent. “And anyone else he’s holding. Even trade.”

“It’s not even,” Shelke grumbled.

Weiss raised a hand and she shut her mouth. Argento stepped forward to rest a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll happily release your people if you release us. We could meet somewhere neutral to hand off everyone.”

“That still doesn’t address the main issue,” Vincent pointed out. “You’re here. You’ve got Midgar. It’s not up to Elfe and I to say you can keep it. Nero has to be willing to sit down and talk, or we’ll just be right back at the point we left off.”

“He’ll listen to me,” Weiss said calmly. “He always has, always will. What do you want to talk about?”

“You came up and attacked. We didn’t come down there after you. We can argue all day about how much Shinra is responsible for, but the fact is, they’re not in charge anymore. No one is going to just trust that you’ll keep your word to leave us alone, and I’m sure you won’t trust us to do the same, not without some kind of formal agreement.”

Weiss spread his hands. “Such as?”

“An official cease-fire,” said Vincent, glancing at Elfe to see if she had any objection. She evidently didn’t, saying nothing. “Then a treaty. That won’t be up to me to negotiate. That’s why we need Reeve.”

“Well, at the risk of blowing a strategic advantage, you’ve got the supreme leader in custody yourselves,” Weiss’ tone was wry. “Fine. A cease-fire is acceptable. Believe it or not we’re not in it for the slaughter. I’m sorry about your people. I confess the revolt got a bit out of hand.”

“We have you,” Vincent agreed. “I’ll admit we don’t know if we can keep you. On the other hand, you haven’t seen everything we could use to hang onto you, if need be. So don’t get over-confident. As far as the killing...nobody’s happy about that. We want it to stop. If you want the same, then we have a basis for negotiation.

“Elfe, are we ready to transmit? We aren’t going to solve anything talking amongst ourselves.”

“Right,” Elfe said, turning to the computer. “We’re ready to broadcast. Ready when you are.”

“Deepground, this is Weiss the Immaculate. Repeat, this is Weiss. I’m fine, Argento’s fine, Shelke’s fine. We’re all here, we’re all together, we’re all unharmed. Unless you count one mother of a headache from my initial capture.”

Shelke snickered at this and Elfe found herself biting her lip as well.

“We’ve begun negotiations for a ceasefire,” Weiss went on. “They want to talk; maybe set up a prisoner exchange. If you could give them proof that their leader is alive and well, I believe that would go a long way to reassure them.”

“Do not squander this opportunity,” Argento put in. “Think on what would be best for all, and not simply of us.”

“I want to go home,” Shelke added. “Please, Nero.”

Weiss briefly touched her shoulder. “We look forward to hearing from you.”

Elfe cut the transmission.

“Let me go,” Shelke spoke up. “I could talk to Nero. Act as a go-between. I’m not as important as Weiss or Argento. I could help.”

“Peace, child,” Argento admonished. Shelke scowled.

“I’m not a child,” she grumbled.

“You’re not bad with the mag rods,” said Vincent, “but we’re not going to send a...er, young person like you out there alone. Especially unarmed. Let’s wait for an answer. We’ll let you know what Nero has to say.”

\--

“You heard them,” Nero said gruffly as the doctor withdrew the hypodermic. “They want to talk, maybe arrange a treaty. I’ll put your leader on to let them know he’s okay, and that you’re coming. They get nothing unless we get a goodwill gesture in return. That means Argento or Shelke. I doubt they’ll release Weiss, so I won’t bother asking.”

The doctor stepped back, clearly eager to be out of Nero’s immediate reach.

“You’ll be given an escort to the borders of Edge,” Nero continued. “You can make your own way from there. And remember, it’s best not to stray too far.”

Veld touched the back of his neck gingerly. It hurt, but it was minor. He could live with it, provided he followed Nero’s instructions.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Can I talk to Reeve before I go? He’s not a military man, I want to make sure he’s okay and keeps cooperating.”

“Yes. We’re about to let him speak. Rosso?”

Rosso nodded, apparently having become accustomed to playing jailer as well as bodyguard, and herded Veld down the hall to the communications room he’d been inside earlier. Reeve was there, seated before the console. He looked rumpled and scruffy, but otherwise none the worse for wear, aside from a bandage peeking whitely below the leg of his dark suit and above his black shoe.

“Veld!” he cried, clearly happy to see the other man. “Good to see you in one piece.”

“You, too. Listen, these lovely folks are letting me out to go talk with the others. We’re going to try to find a solution to this mess that everyone’s happy with. I need you to stay calm and not cause any trouble while I’m gone.”

“You know me better than that,” Reeve replied with a sidelong smile. “I’ll be the very picture of good behavior. Give everyone my regards.”

“I will.” Veld turned to Rosso. “Ready when you are.”

\--

The walk back to Edge was shorter than he’d thought. The thick fog of shadows made it difficult to gauge the distance. His escort seemed to know the way, however, and Veld soon found himself at the bombed-out border of Edge.

Continuing on alone, he kept an eye out for predators, both human and beast. Gods knew what had escaped from Deepground, or where they’d gone, and desperate people did nasty things. 

He had no idea where Elfe was holed up, but there were places he could check. She’d have people out patrolling, watching for Deepground intruders. They knew he was coming, but they’d be careful not to betray their exact location in case he was being watched.

A couple of hours passed as he made his way through empty streets, keeping to the shadows where he could. If that wasn’t ironic, nothing was. He’d passed one of their hideouts already, with doors blown off and windows shattered. A second one had become someone’s makeshift home, and a quick, careful conversation made it clear to Veld that they knew nothing about Elfe or Vincent. He kept walking.

He’d nearly passed the third place, a ramshackle building that looked like a brisk wind would knock it down, when he heard a whisper.

“Veld? That you?”

 

Veld stopped, glancing around. Someone gestured to him from behind the old building. He squinted, trying to make out the face. 

“Tom?”

The man stepped out into the fading light. “Yeah. Gods, I thought they were lying! Come on. I’ll take you to the others.”

\--

“Daddy!” Elfe threw her arms around him and hugged him close. It wasn’t often she addressed him as father; he’d barely been in her life until a few years ago. First names were usually good enough, except in rare circumstances. It seemed this was one of them. Veld hugged her back, tucking his chin against her hair.

“Don’t you dare do that again!” she shouted, shaking him. “You are not allowed to scare me like that!” She pulled him to her a second time. “I’m glad you’re okay…”

“I’m fine.” He edged back a little to look at her. “You’re okay? Everybody else? Tell me what’s been going on. How many people have we got left?”

“Most everyone since you disappeared,” she confirmed. “Except Reeve. They just had him on the radio. He sounds okay, if tired. How was he, really?”

“Has a sprained ankle, but that’s about it.” 

“Okay, good. Weiss will want to talk to you once you’ve briefed Vincent and myself.” She ushered him into what was serving as a conference room. Vincent was already there, waiting.

“Valentine,” said Veld. “I hear you’ve been breaking and entering. Nero wasn’t happy with that.”

Vincent shrugged. “That’s his problem. Sorry I never got to you. I found something else, though.” He told Veld about Shelke, and Veld shook his head.

“Yeah, Nero’s really not happy about that. Let’s trade stories, and then if there’s anything like a shower around here, I need to bathe, and get something to eat.”

\--

He tried to think. They both did. Ever since the Degradation experiments, Weiss had had an extra voice inside his head. In recent months, it had gotten louder. Weiss had only known Professor Hojo by name, and distantly by reputation prior to that. Now, it seemed, the man was stuck inside his head. Mostly he kept to himself, but recently he’d gotten louder. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it did prompt rather impressive headaches.

 _‘Well?’_ Weiss asked. _‘Any suggestions?’_

 _‘There’s nothing worse than a violent fool,’_ Hojo observed, _‘and that is what every last one of them is. I’ve dealt with the one in the cloak- Valentine, I believe, is his name. The woman looks vaguely familiar, but I cannot recall anything special about her. The one called Veld, however, is not so stupid, but no less dangerous.’_

_‘Tell me something I don’t know.’_

Hojo gave a long suffering sigh. _‘One of you has got to blink first. They’ll not give an inch if they can help it. What’s more important? Your safety, or that of your family? Naturally, you can’t have both. See if you can send the women home. Then it will just be you, and you can look after yourself, can’t you.’_

 _‘I suppose,’_ Weiss mused. _‘I could give orders to attack. We’d win. Except Nero can’t leave Midgar so there’s no point. We would only get so far without him.’_

_‘Indeed, he is necessary and instrumental to your continued freedom,’ Hojo agreed. ‘I believe it would be wisest to give them what they want for now. Reform ranks. You can teach them a lesson later when you have all your generals about you once again.’_

Weiss nodded to himself. _‘Yeah. Sounds good. Give them what they want for now. What’s their leader going to do? He’s not even a soldier.’_

 _‘He knows Midgar,’_ Hojo cautioned. _‘Head of Urban Development was not a glamorous title, but he knew the city inside and out.’_

_‘He didn’t know Deepground.’_

_‘Probably not,’_ Hojo agreed, ‘but he knows the surface and you do not. Keep that in mind.’

_‘I will.’_


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is monologuing.

Hojo mentally tallied his victories. The coup had been successful; the Restrictors killed. Deepground and now all of Midgar was under the shared control of the Tsviets. As General of the First Division, Weiss was the de facto leader. This meant that Hojo was as well.

The degradation treatments had not proven helpful for their intended purpose. The Tsviets had been recruited to serve as test subjects. One had to be certain the treatments would affect a SOLDIERs physiology. Only Weiss had responded in any meaningful way and the results had been...unexpected. Hojo had long stood by the maxim that one should never ask one’s underlings to do anything one was not willing to do oneself. He had been among the first subjects to receive Jenova cells shortly after Gast had dug her out of the ice. Although he did not share in the strength and speed commonly found in SOLDIERs, the Ancient’s cells had granted his mortal body a certain...flexibility.

His cells had mapped well enough to Weiss- and vice versa- as well they should; the boy shared his blood. Not long after, Hojo’s own degradation had set in. He’d kept himself together for several years, but in the end the cursed Turk had finished him off.

Except he hadn’t. Not completely.

Hojo had awoken looking through someone else’s eyes at an underground city lost to perpetual twilight. He had known Deepground before it had been buried like a body; yet another of Shinra’s dirty secrets. He had watched from a distance as it mutated from experimental treatment to...he wasn’t even sure what to call it. Not until he had watched, silent and perplexed, from the back of Weiss’ head did he realize how bad it had gotten. The SOLDIERs might joke; call him “Sawbones” or “Butcher”, but even Hojo had standards.

The combination of brutal conditioning and microchips that functioned like a lethal version of a shock collar meant the Restrictors held absolute sway. Perhaps only an outsider could appreciate the holes in the system. Or rather, hole. Singular. There was only one flaw in the elaborate machinery that was Deepground.

Nero had been the only other subject to receive dark mako. It seemed fitting somehow that the son should be given the same treatment as the father. Of course the boy carried no summon materia, but that was no detriment. Unlike his brother and sister, Nero was not built for strength or force. He was a mage through and through, a natural magic user- and the Restrictors had known this. Hojo had watched Nero walk through walls, disappear and reappear at will, pull objects from thin air like a magician, and even summon creatures made of living shadow. That was all passive use. He was forbidden from using his shadows offensively in combat. Hojo was sure the Restrictors didn’t know the half of it- if they had, Nero would surely already be dead. He alone had the power to overturn the little world the Restrictors had built for themselves, and Hojo decided it was high time he pointed it out.

Those with microchips could not directly attack the Restrictors. Nero could not go head to head with them and win, no one could. What he could do was steal the microchips out of his fellow Tsviets and let others fight uninhibited for him. To call the ensuing chaos a bloodbath would be something of an understatement. Yet it had been glorious chaos; the second-hand joy intoxicating. Hojo had never been in a battle, never called strategy or devised tactics. Rather than simply storm the already gutted tower and empty city, he had seized control and sent his men to explore the still-inhabited areas.

It had been going well, until a familiar mask-like face had spoiled all the fun. Chaos, god of death, lord of entropy, and squire to Omega had engaged them in hand-to-hand combat. Weiss was strong and swift, but still mortal. Even a colored Tsviet, it seemed, was no match for a force of nature. No matter. Being captured was but a small setback. It put him in reach of some old acquaintances, and allowed him to glean knowledge from his opponents. Let them bargain and barter. The lot of them still possessed fewer brain cells combined than he did alone. Hojo had always prided himself on his ability to out-think everyone around him. This time would be no different. He only had to be patient. He had plenty of time.


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys see what Shelke's take is on all this.

Veld felt much restored after a shower, some clean clothes, and a meal. Having spent so much time alone in the dark, the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. Instead, he met Vincent and Elfe in what passed for a conference room and tried to fill them in on what had happened.

“So this Nero guy is the cause of the shadow plague,” Elfe said by way of a recap. “And he’s hellbent on getting his brother back.”

“And Argento, now that he knows she’s alive,” Vincent added.

“Right, that too.”

“I dunno if I can talk him into letting Reeve go; certainly not in exchange for anyone less than Weiss,” Veld lamented. “It took a lot of finesse just to get him to let me do this much.”

“Vincent and I were discussing that before you arrived,” Elfe said. “We could release someone as a gesture of good will. It’d probably have to be Shelke. I don’t like the idea of sending her back to that pit, but I doubt Argento will want to leave her son alone in enemy hands.”

“Shelke’s the kid, right?”

Elfe nodded. “Yeah. It’s tricky to put an age to her. When Vincent first brought her in I thought she couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. After talking to her, however, I’d put her closer to sixteen. She’s got the sass and the vocabulary of an older teenager. Must be a late bloomer physically.”

Veld nodded. “Either of you talk to her yet?”

“Well we tried, but that’s when Nero invaded. It worked out, we know his weakness now.”

“Oh?”

“That thing he wears on his face? He needs that to breathe.”

“Why was Nero here in the first place?” Veld was more intrigued than alarmed.

Vincent shrugged. “I think he was trying to rescue Shelke.”

Veld smiled grimly. “Then he doesn’t have one weakness. He has two.”

\--

Everyone had questions for Shelke, but it wasn’t likely she would divulge much if all three of the adults converged on her together. Therefore Elfe, as the resident female, went in to speak with her first.

“Hey Shelke, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Shelke, who had been allowed to sit at Weiss’ bedside with Argento, turned to the older woman who nodded.

“I guess.” She hopped off the chair and followed Elfe to another room. It was empty except for a worn table and a pair of battered chairs. Elfe pulled one out for Shelke and took the other for herself.

“Nero returned one of our people today,” Elfe began. “Is that the sort of thing he’d normally do?”

Shelke seemed offended. “Yeah. It is.”

“Good. We know we can trust him, then.”

“Does this mean we can go home?”

“We’d like for everyone to go home,” Elfe assured her. “Can you tell me more about your home? How old were you when you went into Deepground?”

“Nine.”

Elfe blinked at that, but otherwise managed to reign in the anger the response had triggered.

“Wow, that’s kind of young. How’d you get chosen? Or did someone give you up?”

“I was chosen.” Shelke seemed proud of this. “I’m smart. So they put me to work. I’m really good with computers and stuff.”

Elfe nodded, searching for calm and words that involved more than four letters. “How long have you been part of Deepground?”

“I dunno. Ever since.”

“Do you like it?”

“I like it more now that we’re in charge.”

“What was it like before then?”

“It sucked.”

Elfe fought not to snicker. “In what way?”

“The Restrictors. They controlled everything until we overthrew them.”

“That sounds impressive.”

“It kinda was,” Shelke had a satisfied look on her face. “That’s how we ended up running things instead.”

“How’d you do that, anyway? Take over.”

Shelke swung her legs, her feet a good six inches short of touching the ground. “Weiss figured out Nero could remove the microchips. Without them, we could attack the Restrictors.”

“So you couldn’t before?”

“Not without getting shocked, no.”

“And you don’t have them now?”

Shelke shook her head. “Nope.”

But what about Nero? Could he have removed his own microchip? It was worth asking, but Elfe sincerely doubted Shelke would answer.

“Whose idea was it to storm Edge?”

“I’m not sure it was anyone’s idea,” Shelke said. “Things got out of hand. Some of the regulars and pets got one of the escape hatches open and kind of went nuts. No one planned that. Then when we went up to stop them, people started shooting at us and things escalated from there.”

“So...nobody said ‘let’s go attack the surface’?”

“Not the Outside, no. Shinra sure, but we had no idea what was up top besides that.”

Elfe wasn’t sure she believed that, but if it was a lie, it was a terrible lie. It was so terrible, in fact, that it might even be plausible.

“What about now?”

“Well, you captured Weiss and me. Nero just wants us back. We’ll back off. We don’t really want anything that isn’t Shinra.”

It would probably be a bad move to mention that Shinra had not so long ago owned most of the known world, so Elfe kept silent. Deepground marauding across the continent was not something they needed.

“Okay. We can work with you on that. Would you be okay talking to my dad? He’s met Nero and wants to ask you some questions about him.”

Shelke’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but she nodded.

“Do you want me to stay here with you?”

Shelke shrugged, indifferent.

“Okay, then.”

Elfe opened the door to admit her father and stepped back to lean against the wall.

“Hello, Shelke,” said Veld, sitting down across from her. “I know you want to go home. Before that happens, we want to be sure we understand what’s going on. Nero told me that he wants his family back, and that he wants Midgar. Why would he want a ruined city?”

“Oh the city’s not ruined. Well, I guess up top it is, but it’s fine down below. Mostly we want to make sure there’s no Shinra left. That’s why Midgar’s occupied right now. It’s an extension of Deepground so it’s ours- that’s how Weiss saw it, anyway.”

Since Midgar had been built first, Veld would have argued that it was the other way around, but it wasn’t important anymore. He’d hand it over gift-wrapped if it was up to him alone.

“Well, as I tried to explain to Nero,” Veld said, “Shinra is gone. It’s a long story, but we had something of a rebellion up here, too. We’re trying to start over, and create something better. Deepground was a Shinra project, but no one here wants to run it the way the Restrictors did. My friend Reeve started a new organization to help fix the mess Shinra left behind. He’ll want to work with Deepground. Do you think Nero can be persuaded to do that?”

Shelke eyed him, looking for the trap in his words, the flaws in his logic. “I dunno. Maybe. You’d have to ask him.”

“I’ll do that, if he’ll sit down and talk with us. Any idea what he’s going to do with Midgar if he gets to keep it?”

“Some of us miss the surface. Maybe he’ll move some of the personnel upstairs. I dunno. He never talked about it, not to me, anyway.”

It was beginning to look as though the invasion of the surface was less of a planned operation, and more of a spontaneous venture. Shelke wasn’t a general, nor was she stupid. Whatever military info she had, she’d know better than to simply hand it over. 

A lot of things still didn’t add up. Veld had been listening in while Elfe talked with Shelke. Something she’d said struck him as incomplete, if not an outright lie.

“Excuse us for just a moment,” he said to Shelke, drawing Elfe outside of the room.

“What?” said Elfe, as soon as they were in the hall. “I know that look on your face.”

“I have a question to ask her,” said Veld, “but I don’t want her to know I was listening in before.”

“She’ll have guessed.” 

“But she won’t know for sure. That bit about the attack ‘getting out of hand’, not being ordered…”

“You don’t believe it?”

“Seems a little too convenient, don’t you think?”

Elfe considered. “Maybe. Why send an army, if you only want to get rid of one group? Why not a smaller strike force to take out just Shinra itself?”

“Exactly.” Veld gave her a grim smile. “They were quick enough to take advantage of the chaos caused by their escapees, weren’t they?”

“That’s true. I’d have done the same thing in Nero’s place,” said Elfe, “if I had other goals than just getting rid of Shinra.”

Veld had never imagined he’d be discussing battle strategy with his daughter. He’d learned to respect her abilities, even take a certain measure of pride in them, though it was tinged with regret for all the lost years. They’d never get those years back, but if they could save anything worthwhile out of this fiasco, maybe he could make up for some of it.

That hope was for the future, if they had one.

Shelke waited for them, arms crossed, barely-concealed impatience in her small face. 

“Can I go back to Weiss now?” she asked as Elfe and Veld came back in.

“In a moment.” Veld sat down again. “Elfe tells me that some of your troops and their...pets...got away from you, and caused some trouble. That what they did was unplanned.”

Shelke nodded, silent.

“So,” Veld went on, “why didn’t Nero pull back? He could have stopped the fighting, called for a cease-fire. Why didn’t he let us know that it was an unauthorized attack?”

“Would you have believed us? You don’t now.”

She had a point.

“Once the Restrictors were gone, it was pretty chaotic. The Colored Tsviets had planned to storm the Shinra tower and then Midgar. We had working knowledge of the city, but not a lot on the outside area. You’ve said a few times now that Shinra is gone. The company might have been liquidated, but the people who kept us trapped underground are still around. We wanted them dead or captured.

“I don’t think we realized how much we were relying on the microchips ourselves. Tsviets and colored Tsviets still have their personalities intact. The grunts and pets act almost entirely on orders. The needed direct voice or programming commands to do much of anything outside of their basic subroutine. If not given specific instructions, they’re programmed to just stand there in a friendly environment. In conflict, however, they’ll react. In this case, they overreacted and it took us time to rein them all in.”

If by ‘rein in’ she meant ‘execute’. One of the things that had been so disturbing about Deepground was their tendency to gun down their own troops.

Veld digested all of this in silence. It was true they wouldn’t necessarily have believed what Nero said at the time, but as Nero hadn’t made the attempt, they’d never know. It still looked to Veld as though more was going on behind the scenes that Shelke let on. She might not even know. As a communications officer, she probably had relayed orders, but that didn’t mean she knew the thinking behind them. 

Who was giving the orders - Nero or Weiss? For that matter, how had the grunts gone off on their own if they needed orders to act? She’d said earlier that they’d found an escape hatch. The Deepground troops he’d seen in action were highly disciplined, yet apparently some of them had acted on impulse. 

So who was really in charge?

“Tell me something,” Veld said slowly. “Who made the decision to come up to the surface in the first place?”

“We all wanted to come up. I think Weiss gave the actual order.”

“Not Nero?”

Shelke shrugged. “Hey I just relay the orders. Like I said, it was mayhem. We lost contact with each other more than once during the fighting. We never did reestablish Weiss’ link because he’d been captured.”

“So you didn’t know he’d gone off to attack a civilian population unprovoked?”

Shelke’s scowl deepened. “I don’t know what happened with him. All I know is his troops are dead and he’s locked up.”

Weiss, despite his injury and his manners, was looking less and less innocent.


End file.
